Handel: Saul HWV 53
Gregory Reinhart (Saul), Matthias Koch (David), John Elwes (Jonathan), Vasilijka Jezovsek (Michal), Simone Kermes (Merab), Johannes Kalpers (High Priest), Michail Schelomjanskis (Samuel); Kölner Kammerchor, Collegium Cartusianum / Peter Neumann
MDG 332 0801–2 [156:12]
Peter Neumann’s ongoing Handel oratorio cycle for MDG has yielded some impressive results—his Belshazzar remains a reference—but this Saul from 1997 lands somewhere in the middle tier. Not a failure, certainly. But not quite the revelation one hopes for with this endlessly fascinating work.
The opening Symphony sets out Neumann’s approach: brisk, well-drilled, rather straight-backed. The four movements unfold with admirable clarity, the Collegium Cartusianum producing that clean, slightly ascetic sound that German period-instrument ensembles favor. What’s missing is a certain theatrical swagger. Handel wrote this music for Covent Garden in 1739, not for liturgical contemplation, and the Trinitatiskirche acoustic—however exquisite—smooths over some of the work’s necessary roughness. You want to hear the carillon bells clang with vulgar brilliance in the funeral march; here they sound merely picturesque.
Gregory Reinhart brings genuine authority to the title role. His bass has the requisite weight—this is a part that demands vocal heft, since Saul‘s psychological disintegration must register against the heroic monumentality Handel gives him initially. Listen to “A Serpent, in my Bosom warm’d” and you’ll hear Reinhart trace the king’s paranoia with considerable subtlety, the voice darkening without losing focus. His “Wretch that I am” has real pathos, though I wished for more abandon in the mad scenes. The ghost of Samuel’s appearance should chill the blood; Michail Schelomjanskis delivers the pronouncements with sepulchral weight, but the moment passes without raising gooseflesh.
The younger singers acquit themselves well enough. Matthias Koch’s David sounds a bit pallid—the part really wants a countertenor’s otherworldly sheen, and Koch’s tenor, while accurate, lacks distinctive color. John Elwes manages Jonathan’s music with his usual professionalism, though “No, cruel Father” could use more dramatic bite. The women fare better: Vasilijka Jezovsek brings genuine feeling to Michal’s “See, see, with what a scornful Air,” and Simone Kermes (yes, that Simone Kermes, before she became a divisive figure) displays the technical security and bright timbre that would later make her famous—or notorious, depending on your tolerance for her more extreme interpretations.
But here’s the thing about Saul that this rendition doesn’t quite solve: it’s structurally odd. Eighty-seven separate numbers! Handel fragments the drama into tiny tesserae, creating a mosaic rather than a through-composed narrative. Some productions make this work—the constant shifts can generate tremendous theatrical momentum. Neumann’s approach, faithful to the letter but perhaps not the spirit, treats each number as a discrete entity. Everything is beautifully executed; nothing quite catches fire.
The Kölner Kammerchor sings with precision and good blend. “Envy! Eldst born of Hell!” has proper ferocity, and the great funeral anthem “Mourn, Israel” achieves genuine nobility. Yet I found myself thinking of Gardiner’s 1989 recording, where the Monteverdi Choir sounds more viscerally engaged, more theatrically alive. Or even Christophers’ more recent version, which finds greater variety of color in Handel’s choral writing.
The live album captures some ambient noise—a few coughs, the inevitable rustle—but nothing egregious. MDG’s sound is, as always, impeccable in its engineering: clear, well-balanced, perhaps a shade too polite. That church acoustic again. The resonance is lovely but it homogenizes dynamic contrasts, smooths out edges that should remain sharp.
One keeps returning to the fundamental question: what is Saul about? It’s a study of jealousy and madness, of friendship and loyalty, of divine judgment and human frailty. It needs heat, darkness, psychological penetration. This performance offers clarity, good taste, and solid musicianship—virtues not to be dismissed. But Handel wrote for the theater, and theater requires risk. Neumann plays it safe.
For those building a Handel oratorio library, this Saul serves adequately as a second or third choice. The soloists are generally strong, the execution professional throughout. But if you want to understand why this strange, fragmented work has held the stage for nearly three centuries, look elsewhere. Gardiner remains first choice, with all his interpretive quirks. This one you can live without.
